Palm Springs in November? Don't mind if I do

I'm traveling in a couple of days to Camp Mighty, because when Laura and Maggie tell me they're putting something together, I pay attention. Also I'll take any excuse I can to share a room with Mrs. Kennedy. (Not to mention: raise money for Charity Water. My team has almost reached our goal of $5000! I have a team! If you feel moved to contribute, please do.)

I'm giddy with excitement, but as I am me, I'm also a bundle (bindle? carry-on?) of nervous energy. I have a to-do list that I'm frantically checking off, I keep re-checking to make sure I have enough snacks and anti-anxiety meds for the plane (don't judge me, Normals!), I'm pretty sure I'll forget something vital, like my underwear or my paper-thin veneer of sanity, and also (because I am me) I pause every so often to bathe myself in guilt that I'm leaving my family behind. For four days. How will they survive?

Oh, I do want to be better at traveling, and I'm getting there, but every time I leave home I get anxious and teary. I can't help it. I love home.

My guys.

I love the people who are at my home. (I got a new iPhone, by the way. I am enjoying the photo apps. In case you can't tell.)

Charlie and Henry's album cover

And the pets. It's hard for me to be away from these guys, too.

So mysterious. And full of hate.

("We get it, Bradley, you're making liberal use of the depth-of-field filter.")


On the other hand, I also like dreaming of home, which is best to do when you're off on adventures.

You don't have to tell me how lucky I am, because I know.